


G.L.A.U.C.A

by DreadBehemoth



Series: Sink Your Teeth In [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV, Final Fantasy XV: Kingsglaive
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Body Horror, Corruption, Creepy Ardyn Izunia, Death, Force Feeding, Gore, Imprisonment, M/M, Manipulative Ardyn Izunia, Masturbation, Omega Verse, Psychological Torture, Social Isolation, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma, Unethical Experimentation, and the interactions with his bf is pg 13 fluffy stuff, identification with the aggressor, nasogastric intubation, non-consensual surgical procedures, rated Explicit for the emotional torture and injuries, the masturbation is vauge, traumatic injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-02-26 08:03:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13231497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreadBehemoth/pseuds/DreadBehemoth
Summary: How the Empire made a man in to a weapon.





	1. The Wall Retreats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lythane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lythane/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He learns to fight because he must. Unaided by insomnia, still safe behind the wall.

**\--North eastern archipelago of the Cavaugh Region, 725 M.E.--**

Titus sits in the kitchen and reads by the window, noticing a disorientating shift in the light as he turns a page. He frowns and puts his book down, feeling goosebumps raise over his skin as the shadows lengthen across the kitchen.

He rubs his arms to shake off the unsettling chill and steps outside, eyes drawn to the restless crystalline surface of The Wall in the sky. His mother joins him, face set in anger and green eyes full of worry as they watch The Wall retreat above their home, casting strange shadows across the ground as it fades.   

“Does this mean…” Titus trails off, he has grown up hearing of the expansion of Niflheim and the greed of the Aldercapt dynasty. He knows they will be vulnerable without the protection of The Wall.  

“It means we’re on our own,” his mother says, eyes scanning the horizon.

The wind scatters crisp dead leaves across their driveway and rattles the creaking branches of the sweet chestnut tree beside their home. A strong gust of wind pulls at his clothes, making the hairs on his arms stand on end as it howls around them. 

Titus tries to recall if the wind has always felt this way, or if stripping the wall back has exposed them to more than the promise of war and bloodshed.   

 

Barely a month later Titus first sets eyes on Imperial forces: Magitek troopers that shoot down everything in their path.

He pushes his boyfriend Zayne down behind a wall as the MT’s drop from the sky without warning.  Clouds of dust rise around them, the sounds of bullets raining against concrete freeze them to stillness, unable to even draw breath.  Meters from them a man falls to the ground as bullets rend his skull apart, his head opens across the ground and the boys hold each other.

It’s his first glimpse of death.

 

He learns to fight back because he _must_ fight back. Titus takes to fighting as if he was made for nothing else.  He is fast and feral as he stands with those who are able defend their town.  Each time the odds stack against them, each time their numbers fall. 

They strive to keep things running normally while they can.  They have a system of look outs on shifts and response teams on call to respond to attacks. They coordinate guards so children can still attend school and ensure food and supplies are delivered to those who can’t access it. 

Titus’ mother fights and his father is a field medic, he and Zayne are sixteen and yet they claim more than their fair share of responsibility. 

Dawn is barely breaking across the horizon as they lie together in bed. Titus will soon be on call, and has a few deliveries to run throughout the day, while Zayne will be stationed at the look-out post at the edge of town when the next shift begins.

Titus wishes he could remain in these quiet moments, warm and bathed in the first rays of golden morning sunlight, savouring the comfort of being almost awake together.

Titus finds Zayne’s hand and locks their fingers together, shifting closer until their foreheads touch.  

Zayne opens his eyes then, smiling softly and giving Titus’ hand a gentle squeeze.

“I was wondering…” Zayne says, his tone oddly serious for this time of morning. Not to mention that Zayne was rarely serious about anything.  “Do you wanna bond with me?”

Titus tilts his head back to look at his boyfriend properly as Zayne babbles nervously at him.

“You said yourself the attacks are getting worse, I just didn’t want to die without asking you that. It’s OK if you don’t want to though I get it but-”

Titus cups Zayne’s face and kisses him on the lips gently to shut him up, he rubs his thumb over the scent marker on Zayne’s neck and feels him relax again beside him.

“Yeah I wanna bond with you,” he replies. Because he does, and moments like this make him happier than he ever thought possible in the circumstances.

Zayne grins back at him, it lights up his face, and for a moment Titus forgets the looming threat of war.  Zayne shifts closer to him and kisses his neck just over his scent gland and Titus closes his eyes, massaging either side of Zayne’s neck with his fingertips.

“You wanna do it now?” Zayne asks and Titus shivers in anticipation as his boyfriend grazes his teeth over the tender spot on his neck.

“We really have to get up and leave now, I don’t want to rush it,” Titus responds, tangling his fingers in his boyfriend’s hair and watching how the sun makes his brown eyes look golden.

Zayne rolls his eyes and smirks playfully. “Forgot how soppy you are. Guess I’ll try find some candles and fancy wine and shit.”

Titus hits him on the arm unable to supress his grin. “Idiot.”

They untangle themselves from the sheets and get out of bed, dressing in the clothes and what little mismatched armour they have.  

Titus heads downstairs and makes them both cheap instant coffee while he checks over the stocks of food and medicine he has to deliver.  His mother will still be on the look-out post for another couple of hours but his father is home, passed out from exhaustion on the sofa in front of the muted TV.

He is a huge behemoth of a man, who most assume should be on the front lines of the battlefield. His rough hands can wield a sword, though his training as a healer and ability to remain calm and kind in any crisis make him the most valuable field medic they have.

Titus picks up the blanket that has been knocked to the floor and lays it back over his father, who stirs slightly and reaches out to pat his leg gently in gratitude.

“Stay safe,” his father mumbles blearily, not opening his eyes.

“See you later,” Titus replies, expecting that he will… Hoping he will.

Titus follows Zayne to the door as he leaves for his post and kisses him quickly, letting his boyfriend’s fingers slide from his grasp as he leaves.

“Tonight then, yeah?” Zayne says eagerly, turning to smile at him as he walks away while tapping the side of his neck.

“Yes.” Titus starts to look away to hide his grin but stops himself, keeping his eyes on Zayne. “I love you,” he adds.

Zayne blows him a dramatic kiss in response “Love you too.”  He beams at him, before rounding the corner out of sight.   

  

Titus is heading back from his final delivery when he is radioed to report to the scene of the first attack. The Empire has come again, this time accompanied by machines of war. The smell of burning fills his lungs as he brings one of the machines down into the ground, but no matter how many he cuts down more of them come, reducing homes to rubble until there is nothing left.

Titus is brought to his knees by blood loss and exhaustion just as he realises they aren’t going to stop, this is the final invasion. The earth is soft beneath his fingers, and he wonders if this is the last time he will feel it beneath him as the world turns black.  

…

Titus is among only a handful of survivors captured and taken into Imperial custody. The first test is the gruelling journey to the heart of Gralea, packed together like cattle to slaughter, their wounds untreated, starved and shivering. Each of their lives worth so little to both their captors and to the King who turned his back on them.

Titus’ breathing is shallow, pierced by broken ribs as he holds the hand of an older man drowning on the blood filling his lungs. Their palms are slick with blood as the dying man’s grip slackens in his grasp.

The blood dries on Titus’ clothes and skin and he picks at the crusted stains through the journey. He chokes on the tears swelling in his throat as he thinks of his family and Zayne.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know what to say about this. It's gonna be quite horribly miserable and it's lythanes fault. :)


	2. Broken Mantra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Titus is held captive by the Empire. It only gets worse from here...

**\-- Gralea, Zegnatus Keep --**

On arrival Titus is confined to a darkened cell. The whole room is tiled; with only a small bed, a shower head protruding from the wall and a toilet.

He almost passes out where he stands as he turns the dial on the wall and drinks from the spray of the shower, tilting his head back as the water runs over his face and chin. Only when he tastes it on his tongue does he realise how long it’s been since he drunk anything. He cups it in his hands and drinks deeply, then peels off his torn and bloody clothes and scrubs the blood from himself before passing out on the bed with his belly full of water and his mouth tasting of ash.

He awakens to the sounds of metal scraping as a shutter is drawn back, revealing a solid metal compartment in the wall barely bigger than a shoe box. Inside sits a single small bowl of food. 

He picks up the clothes he discarded by the shower yesterday and steps into his boxers, though the rest of his clothes are encrusted with blood, torn and wet through from the water pooling on the floor around the shower.

He crouches down in front of the compartment in the wall and removes the bowl, setting it aside and disregarding the food along with his bodies faint trembles of hunger. 

Titus studies the metal box, running his fingers over each edge until he finds the seam in the top of the compartment. It has a _lid_.  No doubt food is placed into the box from outside before the shutter raises in his cell to reveal it. 

He fixes his eyes on the seam with feverish determination and pushes his fingers up against the lid, forcing a thin blade of yellow light to slice through the darkness of the cell, falling across his wide green eyes.  Even if he breaks the lid there is no way he can fit through the gap, but to break it, and prove that any aspect of his captivity here can be shattered would mean _something._

A rivet pops against the force and hope flares behind his sternum like a kick to the chest, he forgets to breathe.

There is a faint clicking sound- and the shutter drops. Titus pulls his arm from the compartment but not in time; it crushes down on his wrist like a vice and he screams as he feels the bones slide apart unnaturally, grating against each other before he manages to wrench his arm free.

He falls to one side and cradles his wrist against his body, holding the shattered bones and shaking with pain. His ragged breathing echoes in the confines of the cell and his wrist is slick with blood, skin split from the force of the impact. His fingers feel numb and Titus is momentarily grateful there is not enough light to see the injury clearly.

…

Titus does not eat.  

He leaves the food untouched in the metal box and tries to sleep away the exhaustion.  Accepting the food feels too much like an admission that the Empire has control over his life. It feels like giving up… but then so does his distant wish not to wake every time he sleeps.

His wrist is swollen and tender to the touch, even the slightest movement sends bolts of pain deep in to the shattered bones.  

He still can’t move his fingers.

Titus isn’t sure how long it has been, unaware of any sense of day or night in the darkened cell as he drifts in and out of sleep. He summons the energy to stagger over to the shower and drink.

His wrist throbs and radiates prickling heat which Titus worries are signs the open fracture is becoming infected. The cold water feels soothing on the burning skin but the pain begins to make him feel light headed.  He leans against the wall and grits his teeth.

Titus’ attention is pulled from the pain of his wrist by sudden hissing noise, distinct from the rushing of the water from the shower. He turns blindly towards the sound, tasting something foul in the air which prompts him to cover his mouth and nose with his uninjured hand. He feels his consciousness sliding through his fingers and sinks to his knees beside the shower, the spray cascading over his skin as he passes out.

…

When Titus wakes back on his bed his mind is hazy and his body feels heavy, as though his limbs are held down with weights. He pushes sluggishly to sit up on the bed, gagging as he feels a strange sensation at the back of his throat.  He covers his mouth with shaking hands and finds a _tube_ protruding from his right nostril.

He holds his breath and begins to pull it out, slowly at first, then more frantically as his heart begins to race, panic flooding his chest and he tastes bile on the back of his tongue. He retches as he pulls it from his throat and through his nose, flinging the tube away from him in revulsion.  

Titus holds his head in his hands and takes a few shuddering breaths.

Refusing food is not an option it seems. Refusing food is _not an option_.  It dawns on him suddenly that the pain in his wrist is gone… He clenches his fist and then flexes his fingers. The bones are healed, and the skin is whole, without even a single mark left behind.

 …

The shower drips incessantly and Titus hates it. Each _drip, drip, drip, drip_ underlines the passing moments he is helpless _._

He paces the cell, loosing track of time, and counts his own footsteps in sets of one hundred as he paces the cell. He pushes out his Alpha scent, a comfort to cut through the stench of blood and the phantom taste of smoke and ash.

He does push-ups and exercises himself to the point of exhaustion, cycling between sleep and pushing his body to its limits to stop himself succumbing to the mind-numbing boredom of solitude.  He eats to avoid the alternative.

Weeks become months, and he becomes his own worst enemy. There is nothing with him but the past. He recalls every encounter with the Empires forces, every time he could have done more, been faster, been stronger.  He should have gone back for his family. He should have bonded with Zayne on the morning of the final invasion.

He should have found them, should have saved them.

He leans back against the wall and screams, letting himself slide to the floor. The concrete is rough against his back and it stings as it grazes away the skin. But he can _feel_ it and it breaks through the dreaded monotony.

He scratches his thighs, sinking his nails into the flesh as deep as he can. He bites his tongue until he tastes the metallic tang of blood fills his mouth. He closes his eyes and lets the pain speak over the voice in his head.

The pain feels like peace.

A hissing noise breaks him from his trance as a cloud of gas fills his cell again. Titus snarls in frustration and passes out with the taste of blood on his tongue.  

His body is not his to mark.

…

When he next wakes he has been moved on to the bed again.  A deep pain in the sides of his neck and the inside of this thighs alerts him that something is wrong. He touches the sides of his neck with his finger tips and feels two small neat lines of stitches.

His stomach lurches as he sits up, head spinning as a wave of nausea and dizziness wash over him.

He doesn’t want to acknowledge what it means at first.  The fact the wounds are even there at all means they _want_ him to know; they healed his wrist without leaving a single mark.  The stitches mark out each scent gland on his body, and he finds he can’t push out his scent to cover the faint smell of surgical spirit. 

His scent glands have been removed.    

Titus remembers Zayne asking to make a bond the morning of the invasion and his hands begin to tremble.   

_…_

_You are too hard on yourself_

Titus isn’t sure if the voice is real. Or in his head. He ignores it.

_The blame lies at the Kings feet._

Titus raises his head. “What blame?” His own voice is harsh and unfamiliar to him, rusty with disuse.

_Your home town reduced to ruins. All those you held dear, slaughtered._

Titus gets to his feet shakily, he can’t see where the voice is coming from, the cell is too dark.  “The Empire destroyed everything.”

_Why?_

Titus doesn’t have the answer to that. He paces frantically. He doesn’t want the voice to go away, it would leave him alone again, with nothing.

_Well?_

“The wall.” Titus stops and clenches his fists. There is no reply from the voice and he feels a flutter of panic rise in his chest.  “Lucis pulled back the wall.”

_They did. So the blame lies at the Kings feet._

Titus shakes his head, “The Empire did this. Their machines, their…”

He thinks of the Magitek troopers behind the blank masks, the sight of them broken open, full of horrors and gore that smoked in the sunlight. “Their _monsters.”_  

There is no reply from the voice. Titus waits, standing until his legs are stiff and ache to the bone before he collapses back onto his bed.  He’s sure he’s given the right answer. It’s the right answer.

…

The first rutt he experiences in the cell is torturous. 

There are no distractions to slake the intensity: The restless energy and tension coursing through his veins without an outlet only amplifies the sense he is trapped. Trapped in the cell, trapped in his own mind.

He stands under the shower, trying to focus on the cold water, beating like needles against his skin.  He leans against the wall and closes his eyes, forehead pressed to the wall as he fists his cock in his hand, stroking himself with feverish need until he spills in his hand.  It’s not enough.

The shower drips worse after he uses it, incessantly mocking him as he sweats into the thin mattress. Sleep does not come easily.

…

_The blame lies at the king’s feet_

Titus’ breath catches as he sits up. “Why I am here?” He hates how frantic his voice sounds. He digs his fingertips into the mattress. “Why are you keeping me alive like this?”

The answer doesn’t come immediately, Titus counts the seconds in his head. -26, 27, 28

_To serve_

“I will never serve the Empire,” Titus snarls, with a venomous certainly, and stands shakily.  “You may as well save yourself the time and kill me now.” He feels the truth of that statement like a weight on his tongue. He will die before serving them, die as his family did.

_Then you would serve the Kingdom of Lucis?  Who pulled back the wall?_

“I would.” His voice holds a stain of uncertainty and he tastes ash in his mouth again. To serve Lucis and stand against the Empire would not be a fate worse than death, even if they had betrayed his homeland. 

_And how would Lucis reward that loyalty?_

Titus’ voice sticks in his throat like tar as he thinks again of the day the wall was pulled back. Lucis has already branded him expendable. He blinks up at the ceiling of the dark cell uncertainly. 

“Reward doesn’t matter.” He settles on the answer, “Only the cause matters.”

_And what is your cause Titus?_

The voice mocks him.  The sound is still purer than the silence of his cell, broken only by the drip of the shower. Titus does not remember when he last heard his own name and his eyes sting with unshed tears.

“My home and the people I love.”

_They are dead._

Titus remains frozen. A few months ago, he would have boldly told the voice he would live on for them (but he can’t live like this), he would proclaim his home was not lost while he remains (but he couldn’t save it) and he would pledge to stop the Empire from destroying the homes of others (but he knows he can’t stop them).

“No…” He says flatly, determined not to give in but unable voice to his thoughts.

The voice laughs at him, and it’s not how he remembers laughter. It’s cruel, cold and inescapable in the confides of the cell. There is no other reply and he mourns the loss of company, even though he is sure the voice is not his friend.

He gave the wrong answer and he is left alone.

…

His wrong answer earns him a longer sentence of isolation and another rutt spent in solitude. He tries to stick to his established routine; eating the food he is offered, exercising and sleeping in a set pattern in an attempt to protect his mind from the consuming boredom of the cell.

This becomes harder when the food offerings become more irregular and are sometimes skipped completely.

The once unbroken silence becomes punctured with unpredictable sounds that echo from behind the walls of his cell; flooding his veins with terror and adrenaline.  The sounds of machinery and metal, heavy doors slamming, and the shrieks and growls of humans and demons, all cut through the fog in his mind and wake him from sleep.

_…_

_What would you give to have your home back?_

Drautos jumps at the sound and sits up in bed, heart racing at the sudden intrusion before his mind processes the _voice is back_. The respite from the isolation is so welcome that he must bite back a broken sound before he stumbles for an answer.

“Anything.”  His voice is deeper. This is far from how he imagined spending his teenage years.

_Interesting…What do you have to offer in return for such a thing?_

Drautos grits his teeth.

“All that’s left of me,” he replies, surprised how effortlessly he keeps any trace of emotion from tainting his words.

_Quite a boast._

The voice mocks him, jovial and sweet.

Drautos’ lips crack as he smiles bitterly, he must remind himself the voice is not his friend, even if it is the only thing he has in the dark cell. When he last spoke to the voice it had said he was here ‘to serve’ and he had rejected the idea. The Empire had made it clear death was not one of the options available to him, the only other option was to rot away in the dark cell until nothing left of him remained.

_Lucis must fall…for you to finally return home. You must see that?_

The voice is reasonable and patient. Drautos hates that he believes those words.

“The Empire destroyed my home. Nothing changes that.”

_Nothing could change that? I hope you are smart enough not to truly believe that._

The voice sighs. Drautos swallows the lump of fire in his throat as anger flares in his chest.  Lucis _could_ have changed the fate of his home.  Instead they pulled back the wall, shrunk ‘Lucis’ to Insomnia, and left the rest for the Empire to claim.

When Insomnia falls, the war would be over.

“There’s nothing left return to. I watched it burn.” Drautos shakes his head and tastes ash in his mouth. 

_Fire is a terrible liar. Much of the North Eastern Cavaugh region remains standing just as you do…The question is, who will you align yourself with to best protect your home?_

“Niflheim, Lucis…It makes no difference.”

The voice gives no reply, and Drautos fears he will be left alone in the dark again, with nothing but the sounds of machines and the screams of demons. Desperation twists like vines in his abdomen.

“The war must end. Then I can go home.”

_Meaning._

The voice is still there, patient, perhaps it is his friend after all. He replays the voices own words in his head to be sure of the right answer.  

 

“Lucis must fall. _”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Broken Mantra is a track by Lorn, which I listened to a lot while writing this. 
> 
> The title also fits with the whole "For hearth and home" thing later down the line.


	3. Out Of The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stepping into the light comes with strings attached...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not that descriptive but theres some eye trauma in this chapter.

White light flickers and floods his cell. Drautos bites down on his fist to keep himself from crying out as his eyes water against the glare of the light. The tiles of his cell are stained and crusted with dried blood.  

He barely recognises himself. 

People enter his cell, wearing lab coats not armour, and Drautos stays frozen sitting on his bed.

A distant part at the back of his mind screams they are _the Empire_ and he should fight, but he cannot crush the overwhelming swell of gratitude that they are _here_ ; saviours from the solitude threatening his sanity.

He does not move as they cuff his wrists, and follows them passively as they lead him along the corridor to an elevator. The light stings his eyes so he keeps his head down as they lead him to his new quarters.  

The room is bright and clean, but still bare except for a large bed and a single door revealing a separate shower room.  The carpet feels unbelievably soft and warm beneath his bare feet.

A man in a lab coat turns to face him, observing him critically.  He has pale blonde hair tied back from his face and icy blue eyes.

“Someone will be back to check on you later. Any non-compliance and you’ll be back in the dark cell. Understand?”

Drautos nods, rooted to the spot and struggling to process the change in scenery as they remove cuffs on his wrists and leave.

He goes to the bathroom first and tries the new shower, unable to hold back a groan of satisfaction as he finds the water is _warm_.  He starts to feel the warmth setting in to his skin and notices there is even a dispenser filled with soap that smells artificially of lavender.

He scrubs himself and breathes it in along with the steam from the shower and closes his eyes, remembering instead the lavender planted at the back of his house, how the smell of it would carry on the summer breeze through the open window, while bumblebees and butterflies drifted serenely between the flowers.

When he finally feels clean, Drautos leaves the cloud of scented steam and steps out onto the cold tiled floor.  He wraps himself in a towel left hanging over the bathroom sink and wipes condensation from the mirror.  

He looks at his reflection, startled by the length of his hair and the changes in his body. He stays there frozen for some time, as water runs in rivulets like tears over the surface of the mirror.

He dresses in the clothes left folded on the bed, simple cotton hospital scrubs that set alarm bells ringing in his head but are better than being left exposed wearing nothing.   

He falls onto the bed, which is much larger and more comfortable that the pathetic excuse for a bed in the dark cell… and there are even _covers_ on this bed, which he pulls over himself, relishing the false sense of security.

His eyes are still sore, adapting from the extended time he spent in the dark, but he leaves the light on, and sleeps. 

...

Drautos is woken as the door slams open and footsteps approach the bed.  It’s a new intrusion and his senses surge into hyper awareness, heart pounding against his ribcage as he sits up alert in bed.  

He watches as a man approaches him. It’s the same blonde-haired man wearing a lab coat who moved him from the dark cell. Distantly Drautos recalls how the hiss of the gas would fill the dark cell with no warning and his blood turns cold.  He is grateful for this new approach, and stays frozen where he is as the man stops at the foot of the bed and watches Drautos with a cold and calculated look.

“You want to go home,” he states flatly, not a question but a statement.

Drautos doesn’t offer a response, just glares. He glances towards to door, noticing a pair of MagiTek troopers by the door. He has no weapons, but he could use this man as a shield, take them out, hold him hostage to get himself out of this place and…

_And what_?  A voice in his head chides, _you won’t even make it down the hallway until you’re gassed unconscious… then you’ll be back in the dark cell._

“I wouldn’t recommend trying to escape.” The man is watching him closely as if he can see exactly what Drautos is thinking, and he has the nerve to look smug about it. “I promise you will not get far.”

“Who are you?” Drautos snarls at him. “What do you want?”

“You will address me as Dr. Besithia, come with me now and you’ll see what I want,” he replies evenly.        

After a moment of hesitation Drautos stands. He watches as Besithia turns on his heel and leaves, giving Drautos no other option but to follow him.

...

He is taken to what looks like a hospital ward full of metal stretchers, all partitioned off with translucent plastic screens along the side of the room. Dark figures move between the stretchers, ghostly and indistinct behind the screens. 

The smell of surgical spirit immediately sets Drautos on edge, making the sides of his neck prickle uncomfortably. The looming sense that he’s been here before twists like live snakes in his gut and he freezes, suddenly aware of his heart racing and the cold sweat running down his back.

He _must_ get out of here.

“Are you listening to me?” Besithia’s voice cuts through his panic momentarily and Drautos turns his head sharply to look at him. Whatever the other man sees in his face causes him to narrow his eyes and take a step back, one hand reaching into the pocket of his lab coat.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” He nods towards the nearest metal stretcher. “Sit.”  

Drautos follows his gaze, briefly shifting his attention to the tray beside the stretcher where a syringe filled with some clear liquid is drawn up; the hypodermic needle still capped.

Two other men move to flank Besithia, and the extra eyes watching him do nothing to alleviate his sense of dread.

He forces himself to walk over to the stretcher and sits down on the cold metal, every muscle in his body screams at him to fight.

One of the men moves up beside the stretcher and crouches down out of his line of sight. Drautos hears the distinctive sound of chains scraping against metal and flinches just before the second man pushes him down against the stretcher roughly, knocking the air from him.  

 It’s too much.

 He snatches up the syringe and pulls the cap off the needle with his teeth before stabbing it straight in to the eye socket of the man holding him down. Tiny droplets spec his face and lips as he pulls the syringe free with a wet sucking sound, heart racing as the man’s chilling scream pierces the unnatural quiet of the ward.

Blood and fluid runs warm between his fingers and down his forearm as he shoves the screaming man away from him and leaps from the stretcher, kicking the other startled man square in the chest.

The other man stumbles backwards, bringing one of the screens crashing down, the metal frame clashing against the neighbouring stretcher with a hollow sound that rings in his ears; seeming to reverberate through his bones as he stares at what lays revealed on the stretcher beside him.

It is human, or it was human; hooked up to a machine by a tangle of tubes and wires.  Its form is contorted by twisted metal, jutting out in spikes from the thing’s chest, arms and legs; punching up through gaping tears in the skin and covered in wet threads of connective tissue.  

Its arm is stretched out, fingers fused together with the same metal, enveloping the sides of the stretcher and reaching down to the floor where they spread out over the tiles like vines. The metal glows with a faint wine-coloured light at its core and seems to rise and fall as if alive.

Even as Drautos struggles to comprehend the horror before him he notices half the creatures face is visible through the uneven mass of metal growing from its skull.  A single eye darts frantically in a sunken socket before it stares at Drautos, open wide with panic, alive and too _human_.

A sharp pain shoots up his spine as something jabs into his back. Drautos lurches away with a shout and turns to face Besithia, as his pulse pounds in his throat.  Besithia is holding a needle of his own and pointing a gun at him. Drautos expects he won’t be conscious much longer.

He assumes that stabbing somebody in the eye counts as non-compliance, so it’s likely they will already be throwing him back in the dark.  Would that be a worse fate than what they had planned here?  The frantic eye of the thing behind him flashes in his mind, and he can suddenly feel the weight of its stare boring a hole through the back of his head. 

Perhaps he can provoke Besithia to just kill him now.   

He lunges and Besithia swears and shoots him in the leg, not aiming to kill. Drautos feels the impact shock up his leg but sheer terror mutes the pain as he barrels into Besithia, feeling a satisfying crunch as his fists connect with the other man’s face- Once. Twice. Three times he strikes the man beneath him, knuckles wet and aching dully. He lets out a wordless scream and feels for the first time that he is still alive, he is not _theirs_.    

He raises his bloody syringe and brings it down, aiming for the doctor’s throat but already his vision is fading to black and he slumps to the side and misses, feeling cold tile rush up to meet him as the syringe clatters from his grasp.  

His arms are weighed down by the pull of sedative and he cannot move, can’t do anything but stare at the indistinct form of Bestihia swimming in and out of focus before him. The doctor’s face is a mask of blood, running from his nose and drippings from his chin, but Drautos realises he is _laughing_.  

The laughter rings shrilly in his ears as he passes out, swallowed up by looming darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drautos is making friends and off to a good start yup. 
> 
> Always interested in hearing your thoughts!


	4. Sacrifices must be made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Certain anaesthetics disagree with Drautos - and "the voice" reveals himself.

Drautos finds himself home again after falling asleep on the kitchen table. The chair scrapes against the flag stone tiles as he stands, frantically looking around for his family. He calls out but nobody answers.

Wherever they are, Titus knows they are in danger.  He _must_ find them before it’s too late.

He runs out of the house and stands in the front garden, looking out across the deserted street. A gust of wind blows the door wide open behind him with a slam and snatches at his clothes, raising goose-bumps over his arms, chilling him to the bone. 

Dead leaves and the yellowed pages of newspaper rush past him, skittering across the road as the wind howls.

He looks up at the sky and stares at the Wall. It’s all wrong; sparkling dark red like blood spilt over shattered glass, churning restlessly under the weight of the dark clouds as a storm builds.

He takes his eyes off the sky and walks along the street, searching anxiously but still finding no trace of life.  Fine drops of rain fleck his skin like tears, oddly warm in contrast to the chill of the wind.

Something clatters under his foot and he looks down to see his mother’s sword in the road. He picks it up and turns the black blade in his hand, the words inscribed below the hilt flash in the dim red glow of the sky;

_For hearth and home._

He tightens his grip on the sword and stands at the end of his street as the rain begins to fall in earnest, heavy drops that soak into his clothes until they weigh heavy and cling to his skin.

A scream pierces the howls of the wind, carried from the row of houses at the edge of town where paved streets give way to verdant farmland, blanketed by fine mist. His stomach lurches and begins to sprint towards the sound, praying he is not to late this time, pushing himself on until his breath comes sharp in chest.

The ground trembles beneath his feet and a rumble of thunder pulls his attention to the sky again. The red Wall is fractured, the sparkling surface gaping open like a wound, revealing nothing but a dark endless void.

His legs seize up without warning and the road tears the skin from his forearms as he hits the floor, bracing himself against the impact.  He gets up on all fours and tries to stagger to his feet, only to find he can’t move. 

From the knee down his legs are covered in dark twisted metal. It moves to smother him in pulsing jagged movements, as if alive; the same metallic substance with the glowing core that had encased whoever lay on the stretcher.

_Did I get shot?_ He wonders, mind racing, skipping over fragmented details as the metal begins to spread faster, crawling up over the front of his thighs and pressing harshly against his skin.

The high-pitched scream pierces his ears again, and he forces himself up into a kneeling position in another attempt to get to his feet, inhaling sharply as he feels the metal lacerate the back of his knee.

His heart beats frantically against his sternum as the metal rapidly encases his hips and torso, slicing into his skin below his ribcage.

Above him the red Wall splits open entirely, pulled apart by the storm as the sky bleeds black. Not the black of storm clouds, but the black of a starless night, empty and cold.  

The screaming rings louder in his ears as the metal tightens around his throat and presses the air from his chest.  His vision fades to black as he feels himself shutting down, sinking heavily into the pull of the metal as it drains the life from him.

The last thing he feels is the hilt of his mother’s sword slipping from his fingers, as everything falls away.   

 

***

Drautos can still feel metal against his skin, but now it’s smooth and cool against his back.

He’s lying on a stretcher as the world spins slowly around him. His body aches too much to move and his eyelids feel too heavy to open. He hears voices, both of which are vaguely familiar, but his mind can’t match either to a face or name right now.

 

“There was a minor immune reaction to the metal solution at the highest concentration, but only at the site of injection.  No major inflammatory reaction and all immune parameters measured are still within the expected range.”

 

_“Meaning you will progress to stage two?”_

 

“He’s the best subject for gene therapy so far.”

 

_“Then it seems you will be overlooking his little outburst?”_

 

“He tried to _kill_ me….and broke my nose.” 

 

 

_“Which you fixed, despite my protests…I thought it made your face look rather distinguished.”_

 

 

“Izunia… _You_ said he was ready.”

 

_“I **said** he was as ready as he would ever be.”_

 

 

“I hope you have a solution in mind for these temperament issues.”

 

_“Naturally, do let me know when you are done with him.”_

 

Drautos turns the conversation over in his mind, until it all falls away like sand through his fingers. He’s too tired… Far too tired.  

***

He’s back in the dark cell. With the smell of dried blood and silence. A blade of cool white light slicing through the darkness catches his eye, drawing him like a moth to the flame. The door is open.

Drautos pushes the heavy door open and staggers out of the dark cell into the bright corridor. There are no MT’s, no scientists in lab coats and no cuffs on his wrists. He leans against the wall, frozen for a moment as he tries to process his surroundings until a single thought overwhelms him- _Escape_.

He breaks into a run along the corridor, but it stretches on ahead of him with no end in sight.

_Escape Escape Escape._

Drautos opens the first door he comes across and it’s the same dark cell he came from. He steps away from the door back in to the corridor, feeling a stab of panic in his chest. 

He runs further along the corridor desperately, but it remains featureless and far too bright as dread spreads though him like ice setting in his bones.

_Escape Escape Escape._

He wrenches open another door and finds himself in the ward with the metal stretchers, still partitioned off with those unsettling plastic sheets.

The creature is there, twisted metal and pulsing light.  It pushes off the stretcher and begins to crawl towards him, its movements unnatural and pained as it drags itself along the floor.

Drautos’ feet are rooted to the floor, unable to do anything but watch in horror as the jagged metal and spines on the creature’s head move back to reveal a human face. ~~~~

He stares- and the face stares back at him with Zayne’s brown eyes.

 ***

Drautos sits up suddenly and throws up over the side of his bed, his whole mouth tastes of metal and his skin is covered in cold sweat.  He takes a few shuddering breaths and digs his fingers into the mattress beneath him, shaking and disorientated.

“It appears certain anaesthetics rather disagree with you.”

A voice speaks up behind him and he knows that voice, it’s _the_ voice.  The only communication he had during solitary confinement. 

For a moment he is gripped with fear that he’s back in the dark cell for good, but as his vision swims in and out of focus he realises it’s too bright and warm here, and there was no distortion to the voice. He must be in the soft cell… And he is not alone.

He sits up and turns to face the owner of the voice; a tall man with purpleish hair and sharp amber eyes. He looks out of place in the stark white room.

“Who are you?” Drautos asks, unusually calm. He searches the pit of his stomach for rage and mistrust and finds only resignation.

I do not believe the formalities to be necessary here… you may simply address me as Ardyn,” the voice, _Ardyn_ , explains as he moves closer to the bed.

“Why am I still here?” Drautos asks carefully, watching as Ardyn moves to sit on the edge of his bed facing the door. Ardyn isn’t really looking at him, as though the conversation were completely casual and inconsequential, as though Drautos weren’t a prisoner who had stabbed somebody in the eye.       

“You mean why are you not back in your charming old room?  It took some convincing I can assure you, but I managed to argue on your behalf, though I expect they won’t overlook any further incidents. You really must follow Dr. Bethsitia’s instructions from now on.”

Drautos feels some of the tension leave his shoulders and tries to gather his thoughts, driven by a subconscious urge to get this _right_.  He can’t afford to get this wrong.

“Why would you argue on my behalf?”

Ardyn looks at him over his shoulder indignantly and puts a hand on his heart, smiling faintly.

“Titus, I want the best outcome for you in this situation,” he assures.

The mention of his name stings and he tastes ash in his mouth again.  Calling Ardyn a liar won’t help him so he forces the bitter thought away.  

Drautos’ mind races with questions… What was the thing on the stretcher? What did they want with him? What exactly did Ardyn consider a “good outcome” for him?  His concern must show on his face because Ardyn is looking at him more closely now.  

“Please just say whatever is on your mind, this conversation is all in strict confidence.” He states it pleasantly enough that Drautos almost believes him. 

“That thing, in the ward… what was it?  And what do you want from me?” Drautos asks cautiously.    

“You remember what must happen before you can return home?” Ardyn replies. His voice has a harsh edge to it.     

The words “ _Lucis must fall to end the war.”_ Fall from Drautos’ mouth almost automatically.   

Ardyn inclines his head.

“You have a role to play in ending the war which will be made clear in due time, but there are other objectives along the way… and sacrifices that must be made, to achieve that goal.” Ardyn leans back on his hands and looks at the ceiling in contemplation. “Rest assured that you will not encounter the same fate as those unfortunate subjects in the ward.”

“Sacrifices…” Drautos repeats numbly, remembering the spires of twisted metal jutting out of split skin and tasting metallic bile at the back of his throat. His skin is suddenly hot all over and black spots dance at the edge of his vision as a wave of dizziness washes over him. 

He puts his head in his hands, breathing fast and shallow as his panicked mind races. They must have done something to him when he was unconscious _..._ He can hear the hiss of the gas in his mind faintly as he recalls waking up after being force fed, recalls the scratch of the stitches on his thighs and neck after they surgically removed all his scent glands.

A cool sensation on the back of his neck breaks through his panic.  Ardyn is sitting next to him on the bed now, holding a cool towel against his skin. Drautos hadn’t even noticed him get up.

“Breathe slowly and deeply. There’s no need to get _quite_ so upset,” he instructs calmly.

Drautos begs to _fucking differ_ but he does as he’s told, steadying his breathing and trying to focus only on the soothing cool water from the towel as it runs down his back.  

“Best not to dwell on these things,” Ardyn says reassuringly.

Drautos glances at Ardyn, suddenly hyperaware that this is the first time he’s been close to another person that hasn’t actively tried to hurt him since being in the Empire’s custody.

After a moment Ardyn removes the towel and gets up.

“I’m afraid I have matters to attend to. You don’t appear to have such a ghostly complexion now at least.”  Ardyn looks down at him with an oddly fond expression before continuing, “Somebody will be along here later with food.  And I may drop by tomorrow.”

“Right,” Drautos replies, relived to know at least vaguely what to expect. 

He’s recovered enough now to feel mildly embarrassed that he almost passed out in front of Ardyn; but despite everything, feels an unexpected stab of disappointment as he watches him leave.

 

 ***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, Should have a bit more free time now so maybe I'll get round to more miserable updates :)


	5. Unfolding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drautos rebuilds in captivity. The next stage and his new purpose is revealed.  
>  *******

******

Ardyn returns most days, as does Dr. Besithia.  Besithia does not speak to him any more than strictly necessary. He instructs Drautos to sit in the chair by the bare desk and draws up a syringe of some purple solution that he injects into the vein in his arm, alternating between the left and right each day.  

He doesn’t answer any of Drautos’ questions.

Ardyn is chatty by comparison, filling the quiet of the soft cell with tales of his travels across Eos and the cultures and customs of the different regions, as if the ongoing war were completely inconsequential background noise.

For the most part, Drautos has little to add to the conversation, having never left his home region.

The food is better. His strength Improves. Ardyn brings him books.

“What did you think of this one?” Ardyn brandishes the latest book at him as he throws his coat down over the back of the chair.

“Didn’t like the story,” Drautos shrugs, “especially the ending.”

Ardyn clutches the book to his chest as if offended.

“But the romance?  The tragic conclusion?”

“The romance was hollow at best. Besides, I don’t like all that destiny bullshit.”

“And why is that?” Ardyn arches an eyebrow at him, taking up his usual position at the end of Drautos’ bed.  

“If everything happens by design, if it’s destiny, then it feels like the characters choices don’t matter at all. They just use destiny as an excuse to avoid making hard decisions or taking responsibility for their actions.”

Ardyn laughs and Drautos doesn’t understand the undercurrent of bitterness ringing in his ears. The other man drops the book down on the bed and turns to look at Drautos, amber eyes glittering with amusement.

“So you don’t believe in destiny?” He leans forward with a smirk and Drautos suddenly notices how close they are.

“I didn’t say that…” he chews his lip and looks at the door, breaking eye contact.

Ardyn reaches out a gloved hand and Drautos feels the other man’s fingers brush the line of his jaw before he pulls his chin back to look at him.

“Then what is the alternative? Everyone lives out a meaningless existence in an empty void?”

Forced to meet Ardyn’s gaze again, Drautos feels his heartbeat quicken and grips Ardyn’s wrist.

“We attach our own meaning to things. We live for what matters to us, the opposite of destiny is _choice._ ”      

Ardyn chuckles and rubs his thumb over Drautos’ jaw.

“You will have many choices to make from now on Titus.  So I sincerely hope you keep what matters to you in mind.”

 

 *****

 

His space gradually increases, his access expanding from the single stark white bedroom and bathroom to the hallway and beyond. He now has access to a room furnished with a range of gym equipment: a treadmill, a weights station, an exercise bike and a couple of matts in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror. There is also a grey-tiled kitchen with a breakfast bar fitted with a stainless-steel sink and appliances.

The blank windowless walls are a world away from the farm house kitchen he grew up with.

Drautos explores the extension of his world cautiously; he can’t help but feel like he is living in a dolls house, cut off from the bigger picture. He hasn’t been outside since he left his hometown. 

No- not left; since he had been _captured_ from his hometown and _imprisoned._

But he had to stop thinking like that. The more he thought about it, the more meaningless the new freedom seemed, and the greater the chance the fragile the doll house would shatter around him at any moment, leaving him back in the dark.

Meals are not brought to him anymore, but the raw ingredients appear in the fridge each day. Drautos used to cook often at home, when his parents were out late on duty.  He would make stews, casseroles, curries, stir fries or most anything he could scrape together in large batches that would keep. He was no stranger to cooking. However, he was a stranger to whatever the fuck they apparently ate in Niflheim.

“You look like you have never seen karlabos tail fillets before,” Ardyn comments wryly as he places a few new books down on the counter for him. They all appear to be cook books, which Drautos is grateful for.

“Is it supposed to be this colour?” Drautos lifts the edge of the fillet up gingerly, the meat is translucent at the centre, yet dark blue with purplish streaks through the muscle fibres at the edges. It smells quite strongly of seawater in a way that sticks to the back of his throat, another stark reminder of the outside world he is cut off from.

“It is indeed,” Ardyn hums thoughtfully, “They favour the Cleigne coast, we import them from Cape Caem.”

Drautos lets the fillet drop back on the plate with a wet slapping sound and frowns at Ardyn, “So do you also know how to cook it?”

“ _Heavens_ no, I prefer not to touch things that come out of the sea.” Ardyn flashes him a smile as he slides over one of the books and pats it pointedly, “Though there is a wonderful recipe you might like in this collection of culinary delights.”

Drautos flicks through the book until he finds the recipe in question for Karlabos fillet risotto.

It does not look easy.

He reads the recipe and starts to locate the ingredients and kitchen utensils he needs.

“Where are the knives?” Drautos asks, placing his palms on the counter hesitantly.

Ardyn gestures at one of the pull-out drawers.

“I had quite a time of it convincing Doctor Besithia to allow you to have access to anything even vaguely pointy after that stunt of yours. So those stay in here at all times, for your sake.” Ardyn fixes him with a stern look until Drautos drops his gaze.   

“Right,” Drautos agrees, as a thread of guilt pulls on his sternum. Even holding the knife feels like a crime against his captors. He pushes the thought away, it’s only Ardyn here now, and all he wants to do with the knife is slice onions and garlic.  

Drautos makes a start on the risotto, having something to focus on helps him push down the underlying panic threatening to breach the surface of his subconscious. He breathes in the scent of fried onions and garlic in butter and watches the rolling boil of the stock.      

Ardyn remains sitting on the barstool at the counter, reading through some reports, glancing up occasionally to check on Drautos’ progress. He doesn’t get involved, other than to help himself to a glass of wine after Drautos has used what he needs of it for the risotto.

He slices the fillet and poaches them as instructed, waiting for the translucent part of the meat to turn white and the blue colouration to pale before searing them in pan with butter.

He serves the fillet pieces over the risotto and looks at the dish in front of him. It smells amazing, and it doesn’t look half bad either.

“Are you going to eat it or simply stare at it?” Ardyn comments. The other man’s voice pulls him back from his hyper-focused state to the present.

Drautos takes up his fork wordlessly and tries it. The fillet is soft and flakes in his mouth, the risotto is creamy, and the food is fresh and hot in a way his previous meal rations can’t compare to. He takes time to savour it, chewing slowly as his senses adjust to it all. 

Ardyn looks at him expectantly, as if waiting impatiently for a verdict, before picking up another fork from the counter.

“Mind If I try?”

Drautos shifts the plate towards Ardyn slightly and shrugs. Watching as the other man takes a small forkful of food to taste. He raises an eyebrow at Drautos in surprise as he swallows the mouthful.

“My dear Titus. You did exceptionally well with that, I am rather impressed.” He sets his fork down and smiles sincerely, “I will not steal any more of your food, though I must admit I am quite tempted.”

Drautos feels a swell of Pride and relief in his chest that only amplifies the taste of the food.

 

****       

 

Drautos is drip fed independence slowly. Ardyn brings him more cook books and invites him to write his own request forms for food and drink so he can plan his own meals. The gym strengthens his body and the steady supply of books sharpen his mind.

He feels different, distanced from the boy he was in the dark cell. Which is good, the further he is from that person the less likely he is to end back there… Or at least that is what he repeats to himself when he wakes from sleep in a cold sweat and must turn all the lights back on to stop his heart from hammering a tattoo against his sternum.

His scrubs end up sticking to his skin with sweat most nights. Cold showers in the morning help but all he has to wear are more powder blue hospital scrubs.

“Can I have some proper clothes?” Drautos asks Ardyn, tugging the neckline of the top and frowning.

 “Do you not find those comfortable?” Ardyn puts a few more books down on the desk and turns to look at Drautos curiously.

“I don’t mind wearing these in the labs…” he begins cautiously, struggling to articulate how the scrubs tie him to captivity, “but having something else to change into afterwards would be better.”

Ardyn inclines his head and smiles benevolently.

 “I will see what I can do for you.”

 

***

 

Besithia demands more of him.

He sits through the injections, the blood draws, and having various sensors strapped to his body. He does not ask questions, keen to be out of the labs as quickly as possible.

 On one occasion Drautos is instructed to lay back on a narrow stretcher and remain still while a huge mechanical ring-like structure passes over his body. The machine sounds like a fucking airship taking off and he screws his eyes shut against the flash of the small blinking lights. The mechanical screaming fills his ears and his heart races as the machine slowly passes around him…but it doesn’t hurt.

 

**

Besithia arrives the next day with Ardyn. Which is new, and Drautos is unsure how to interpret the change.

Ardyn brings him books, company, new foods and recently a potted plant (It smelled of fresh earth and rain so Drautos let it stay on the bedside table). Ardyn’s visits are pleasant, whereas Besithia’s visits are not.

He watches them enter together through the heavy metal security doors at the end of the hallway, while he lingers in the doorway of his bedroom, frowning uncertainly.

“There’s no need to be alarmed Titus,” Ardyn reassures him pleasantly, “we simply have a few things to discuss with you today.”

Besithia looks at his watch, “We don’t have all day though, come on; there’s no need to change into your scrubs.” 

Drautos nods sharply and follows them out.

Until seeing Ardyn and Besithia together, Drautos realises he never really noticed how much taller he is than Besithia.  The two of them discuss something but Drautos finds he can’t really follow the conversation, more attuned to the echo of their footsteps and the jump of his own heart-beat.

It isn’t until Ardyn thrusts a lab coat at him that Drautos realigns his thoughts and looks at the lab coat questioningly. The test subjects don’t usually wear lab coats.

“Wear it,” Bethsita adds curtly, pulling on his own lab coat and buttoning it up.      

Drautos does as he’s told and glances at Ardyn, who has also shed his usual coat to pull on one of the apparently mandatory lab coats. Ardyn nods at him encouragingly and swipes his access card on the control panel to open the doors to the labs.

Drautos follows them to the end of the corridor and into one of the labs he hasn’t been in before, immediately he can taste metal at the back of his throat and tries to swallow it.

The lab is very dimly lit, which Drautos immediately dislikes, though he can still see a row of glass bell jars along the back wall, large enough that a full-grown man could kneel inside. Each glass dome is fixed into a raised stainless-steel cabinet, featuring a range of dials and buttons with a series of pipes and air ducts jutting out of the cabinets. The plumbing runs up along the back wall of the lab through the ceiling and out of sight.

The lab is filled with a low rumbling hum. It isn’t that loud, but Drautos can feel the vibrations in his sternum as if the very air is charged with energy.

“Which one?” Ardyn surveys the glass bell jars and approaches them cheerfully.

“Number 7,” Bethsita replies, leading them both over to the vessel adjacent to the last one.

On the front of the cabinet is a digital display screen with ‘GLAUCA07’ illuminated in red.

Drautos looks at Ardyn, hoping for some explanation as to what any of this has to do with him.

“I expect you are eager to know why you are here.” Besithia speaks up from behind him abruptly, taking him by surprise.  Drautos feels his shoulder blades itch as if he is awaiting a sudden blow.

 “ Yes,” Drautos agrees, surprised at how calm and even his own voice sounds.

Besithia brushes past him and turns a few dials on the cabinet in front of them, a rushing noise surges through the many ducts and pipes as a clear purplish liquid begins to fill the glass chamber in front of them from the base of the cabinet.

Drautos watches as something else rises up from the dark of the cabinet into the chamber, it is much more viscous than the purple liquid, a dark metallic substance that shifts fluidly, aggregating together in a jagged knot, emitting pulses of wine-coloured light as it twists and contorts behind the glass.

Drautos is hypnotised by it, body frozen to the spot as he remembers the thing in the lab split open and warped by a similar substance. Ardyn had assured him that wouldn’t happen to him though. Right?

“It is an organometallic compound imbued with miasma,” Besithia explains proudly, watching the structure unfold with cold blue eyes.  He puts his hand on the glass and as soon as he does so the substance forms a ridged spire and drives it against the glass vigorously, like a snake striking down prey.

“This one seems very reactive,” Ardyn comments, eyes roaming over the other empty glass containment chambers.

“Is it alive?” Drautos asks watching the substance recoil into a tight angry cluster at the back of the chamber.

“No,” Besithia says sharply, removing his hand from the glass “It responds to stimuli and it has remarkable adaptability, but it is not a living organism.”

 Drautos looks between Ardyn and Besithia, considering his words carefully.

“So what’s it got to do with me?”

Ardyn smiles pleasantly placing a hand on the small of Drautos back, pushing him forward to stand in front of the chamber.  His breath fogs on the glass as he watches the entity within. It does not charge the glass aggressively this time, but instead extends tendrils cautiously towards him. Its form shifting into sinewy ropes that look suddenly more solid, the lights pulse more fervently as it presses against the glass.

Drautos watches it transfixed, raising his hand to touch the glass and feeling a sudden yearning ache in his chest he can’t explain away as fear. The light pulses at his fingertips and he tastes metal on his tongue which he can’t swallow down.

“It is yours. Designed for your protection in the war to come,” Ardyn says softly, still standing beside him.

“How does this protect me?” Drautos asks, still focused on the liquid metal before him.

“It’s your armour,” Ardyn confirms.

“It is Gene Linked Ability Upgrading Composite Armour.” Besithia moves to stand next to him on his other side, Drautos catches sight of his icy blue eyes and satisfied smirk reflected in the glass.

“Glauca.”

Drautos takes his hand off the glass reluctantly and glances between them both. Still unsure what they are asking of him.

Ardyn continues, “you agree with what must be done to end the war, we must destroy the Lucian monarchy, the same monarchy that allowed your home to be destroyed.”

Drautos nods, he knows he has a part to play in this.

“Doctor Besithia has engineered this armour to respond to you alone. It will make you stronger in ways you can’t yet imagine, it will protect your body and your identity in the battles to come. I have kept you in your quarters here for your protection… With the armour, you can begin to venture further and realise your goals.”

The thought of being allowed outside ignites a further sense of determination within Drautos. He looks back at the tendrils coiling in the chamber beside him, the mass twisting restlessly as if it too desires freedom.

Ardyn puts a hand on his shoulder and tilts his chin to face him, pulling his gaze away from the incomplete armour.

“You must choose this Titus. For the procedure to work, for the armour to bind and remain under your control, you must choose this path.” He releases Drautos and smiles, “Do you accept?”

Drautos looks back at Ardyn’s amber eyes, which look unusually fierce in the dim light of the labs. He knows he has to agree – Or be lost to the dark again.

“Yes. I agree.”

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delays, I am trying to get back in to writing 
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
